Concede
by Feonyx
Summary: Marisa the Crimson Flash has never let anyone be close to her. No one knows where she came from or why she decided to join Gerik's mercenaries. Maybe that's why he's so fascinated by her. Now he's got to convince her to take off the mask.


**Concede**

* * *

_Concede_ is by Sister Hazel. Did you remember to listen to it today?

* * *

Today was a desk day, and Gerik hated desk days. His mercenary band had a small headquarters in the capital of Jehanna, just enough space for people to stay if they weren't on a job or lived outside the city, and when a rich client who didn't want to be seen in the Guildhall came directly to Gerik to convince him to accept large bags full of money. Those were days the famous Desert Tiger could live with. Today wasn't one of them.

Once in a while – he tried to keep it to once a month – the paperwork, pay schedules, and the innumerable bills, receipts, memos, and complaints the guild sent his way mounted so high that his only options were to do them, burn them, or buy a new desk. Gerik opted for the former, against his mercenary instinct. Those were desk days, when he spent hours trying to figure out in what new way the guild was sucking money out of his pockets. They always dragged on long enough for his nose to shut down, after absorbing about six pounds of clove-aroma from the spice market just down the street.

He had tried closing the windows one time. They didn't talk about that day anymore.

The headquarters was busy that day, as almost half the band had just returned from a long caravan-escort job, and they were accompanied by another six of Gerik's men who had been hired to ambush the same caravan. The guild really was sloppy sometimes.

"You shouldn't show off your mathematical talents like that, chief. It's unbecoming for a mercenary," said Tethys, lounging on the sofa, arguably the only nice piece of furniture Gerik had ever owned. Gerik had watched her sit down, and she had done so in a perfectly ordinary way, but for someone like Tethys, it was impossible not to shift immediately into lounging. "Hey, Korsh! You're back and not dead!"

"No thanks to Natac coming at me from behind that cart with a steel lance, heavy end first," the mercenary grumbled.

"Hey, you were lucky it was me," said Natac, entering just behind.

"You knocked me out, sandbrain."

"Yeah, but I didn't kill you. The rest is just guild guidelines."

Gerik sighed and stared painfully at the columns of numbers. "I mean it, chief. It's just not a warrior thing," said Tethys.

"I don't _have_ any talent for this. Just endurance," Gerik replied.

There was no chance that Tethys wasn't about to make one kind of joke about that or another, possibly related to the day he had closed the windows and passed out from dehydration, but he was saved from further commentary by the door swinging open again. Gerik looked up to see who else had returned from the Guildhall; he needed to find out if there had been any casualties for either group.

Sunlight caught the cloud of sand thrown in from the street, blurring everything beyond the doorway in an orange fog, except for the most lithe figure he had ever seen. High leather boots and something between an evening gown and a martial artist's _gi_, all black. Pink hair. Sword. And when she stepped inside, transforming from impossible silhouette to more ordinary young woman, eyes that literally cared for nothing at all.

She strode directly up to Gerik's desk. "Work."

The mercenary stared. "I'm adding and subtracting as fast as I can," he replied tersely.

"I want work," she clarified.

"I want a large pile of gold," Gerik stated.

"I want to work for you."

"Now we're getting somewhere," he allowed, putting down his quill and leaning back. "Why should I hire you? You're what, sixteen? Why should I take on a liability like you?"

_Concede and believe me_

_I won't give up, I won't give out on you_

_Concede and believe me_

_I won't give up, I won't give out on you_

_Oh no, no, no_

_You… oh no_

"I'm nineteen," she corrected him. "My name is Marisa."

"Never heard of you," Gerik said instantly.

"I'm the best there is."

"Any previous guild-mercenary experience?"

"No."

"Any freelance work?"

"No."

"Any banditry?"

"No."

"You don't have to just say that; right now it would probably count in your favour."

"No."

"What in the name of the divine light convinced you that you're the best myrmidon there is?"

"I've never lost a fight."

"I can tell that from the fact that you're standing in front of my desk, blocking my light," said Gerik. "Someone like you loses a fight, you're either dead or someone's favourite captive."

"I mean in my entire life," Marisa explained. "Not one practice match. Never in real combat."

"And when have you been in real–"

"I'm arena champion."

The room, which had mostly been filled with other off-duty mercenaries' musings on where they had seen her before, whether or not she was any good, and who had the best chances of getting her out for a relaxing night, went silent. A cart creaked by on the street outside.

"Hired," said Gerik. "Pending examination of your claims and skills in various combat situations. Welcome aboard." He stood and reached over the desk to shake her hand. Marisa stared for a moment, then accepted. Gerik immediately shifted his weight back and pulled her forward. The pink-haired myrmidon twisted as she was yanked ahead, braced herself against the edge of the desk, and dropped almost to her knees, foiling Gerik's stance. He stumbled, bashed his knees on the wood, and fell in a long arc onto the floor on the other side. Marisa quickly pinned him, her sword across his neck.

He had the vague feeling that her holding it blunt-side down was a courtesy.

"So, that's Tethys, our company dancer," said Gerik, as though nothing had happened. "The kid with his nose in the book is Ewan, her little brother; he'll be gone next week to study in Caer Pelyn. Everyone else will probably introduce themselves soon enough. Let me show you your quarters."

"Okay."

"You're not very sociable, are you?"

_Now hear: I promise to listen_

_Why won't you go for that_

_Now hear: I promise to hold you_

_Why won't you go for that_

"I'm just saying you could loosen up a little," Gerik stated almost year later, leaning heavily on the doorframe. "I've seen people who don't dance, I've seen people who don't drink, and a whole lot of people who do both very badly. I've never seen anyone who _can't_. Were you actually trying?"

"Yes," Marisa replied, almost completely invisible in the darkness.

"That was pathetic," said Gerik. He reconsidered. "Is there any way I can make that less insulting even now that I've actually said it?"

"I'm not offended."

If it had been anyone else, Gerik would never have believed them. But even after a long night of celebration – the rest of the band was still wandering the streets, as their return from the successful bandit-hunts in northeastern Grado had matched the new year's festival in Jehanna – he knew to take Marisa at her word. He had seen talented dancers choose to move badly. They had been better than Marisa.

"Did you have some kind of traumatic dancing accident when you were little? No, even that wouldn't work. Have you ever heard Tethys' story?"

"No."

"She and Ewan were abandoned on the streets. She learned to dance by watching the travelling performers, and that was how they survived. And you've seen how she does now." He rested his forehead against the wall. They needed to get some lamps in here; Gerik would have been able to see as well with a blanket over his head. After being buried in a mineshaft. And he still didn't know what he was waiting for.

"We can go now."

"You know, you're the first subordinate I've ever had to order to carouse. May I also say you did so very badly, without incurring your wrath?"

"Yes."

"What did you want to come back here for?"

"You told me I should get into celebrations more." Marisa stepped into the faint moonlight, filtered through a window that opened onto the alley. She was wearing a mask, something terrifying with huge fangs and covered in feathers. "After midnight is the masquerade."

_If I had wings and I could fly_

_Well I'd still walk with you_

_If I had a safe place to lie_

_I'd want to lay with you_

"I think this is the most initiative you've ever shown outside battle. I'm impressed."

"Did you get one, chief?"

"It's band tradition that I have to wear whatever the rest of them agree on," said Gerik. He laughed in the dark. "It's a brilliant plan. By the time the festival actually starts, the only person who remembers the deal is Tethys, who doesn't like masks anyway."

"Good one."

"I don't know what you're thinking, though. You don't need a mask. You've got your own face."

Marisa stopped – she was always in a little bit of motion, the way duellists hopped from foot to foot to keep from being caught with their weight on the wrong foot, but now she stopped. "Do I look this bad all the time?"

"Nah! No, no, I mean you're always blank. You don't smile, and you sure don't let anyone get to know you. I've never even seen proof that your name is Marisa. I don't know where you come from."

Gerik, fuzzy though his thinking was, desperately wished that he could see through the mask's eyeholes, because Marisa was apparently still staring at him and he didn't know why. Admittedly, he couldn't have read her emotions no matter what, but at least he'd know if she started eyeing the veins in his neck. He stepped forward, joining her in the moonlight; he knew from experience that Marisa didn't fight as well at very close range. Tethys said being near other people, even her foes, made the myrmidon nervous.

Or maybe she wasn't about to attack him. He could imagine another way she looked under the mask, something curious, something afraid even of herself and what it meant to be like other people. To try to fit into a world covered with thousands upon thousands of people, all interacting, making friends and losing them, making enemies and losing _to_ them, and the terrifying thought of letting someone else matter more than yourself. And why was she breathing so hard…?

Belatedly, Gerik realised that he had been leaning ever closer to her, and now had his nose pressed up against the painted wooden maw of a hideous feathery beast. Laughter rang out from the door – blessedly it was coming from the _front_ door, not the door to Marisa's quarters.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll just be a minute – Chief! Come on, the fire-eaters are getting started! And find where Marisa's hiding; she needs to see this!" shouted Tethys. She let out another melodic whoop and the door slammed shut.

Gerik shook his head quickly. "Sorry, mind wandered for a minute there. Let's go."

"Okay, Chief."

_So now you shut off and you shut down_

_Won't let nobody in_

_And when you shut off and you shut down_

_Won't play that fool again_

_I've seen your inside – you stay inside_

_And I won't go for that_

_I've seen your quarters_

_Seen your crooked sacred pictures on the wall_

The beating hooves and ringing metal of battle had settled around Gerik as comfortably as an old jacket. Admittedly, they were outnumbered and had been pinned down into a small fortress for the last twelve hours, but then some Pegasus knight arrived – Tana, he thought – and Prince Innes announced that their backup was here. From there, the Prince had led a charge into the narrow mountain pass to the south, where they were holding off at least a third of the enemy forces.

He ducked, slashed up and through the attacking soldier, practically ran circles around a brigand who didn't know what dodging was for, and barely had to glance at the myrmidon coming his way to block her sword… 'Her'? Not many mercenary groups hired women, especially as melee fighters.

"Marisa?" Gerik nearly dropped his sword. Fortunately, Innes and Tana seemed to be thrashing the remaining foes without much difficulty, especially with Tethys there to renew their weary muscles.

"Chief."

"_This_ is where you were going? You didn't tell me," he said, a note of accusation in his voice.

"Guild didn't say," she explained. "And I'm going by Crimson Flash right now."

Gerik watched impassively as Innes fired a pair of arrows through the last incoming cavalier; the man had made the unfortunate mistake of hurling javelins at Tana. "Well, you're the last woman standing. Do we fight this out?"

"What do you want me to do?"

The Desert Tiger recoiled. "You're giving the decision to me? The guild wouldn't like that. If they find out you switched sides, you might never get another commission."

"Yeah. I've heard that."

"Well, it would make things a whole lot easier if you joined us. I'd like that."

"There you go," she said. "What's our objective?"

"Escort duty. Princess Eirika and her brother Ephraim, although we were hired by Innes over there–"

"Ephraim needs it more than I do," Innes stated loudly.

"I guess that's–"

"But your priority is Eirika," he added.

Gerik sighed. "I think for now we'll find anyone in the area called 'Prince' or 'Princess' and ask them who or what needs killing. How do you feel about fighting unspeakable demonic monsters?"

"I'll get used to it."

_Concede and believe me_

_I won't give up, I won't give out on you_

_Concede and believe me_

_I won't give up, I won't give out on you_

"Still hurt any?" Gerik asked, taking a seat beside Marisa's cot. She sat up sharply and nearly leapt to her feet, with only a twitch of her cheek to indicate the pain it probably caused.

"No. I can fight."

"Whoa, whoa, calm down a bit. We don't need you to fight anything. The princess says we're taking a break before we head for the centre of Rausten, and we're not going back into the Lagdou Ruins until we have enough free time to wait for people to recover from a concussion every time they take a hit. You're not the only one who got hurt; Franz can't stand on his left leg and Lute gets dizzy if she does anything except lie very still with her eyes closed. Natasha and L'Arachel say they're working as fast as they can. Your orders are to make sure you're not crippled the next time I need you."

Silence reigned inside the tent. Rain rained outside it. Gerik found himself trying to count the number of droplets rolling off the top edge of the canvas doorway. "That was a lot of words," Marisa said at last.

"Maybe I'm learning how to fill the silence around you," he suggested.

"You're here to tell me I'm fired, aren't you?" Marisa asked flatly.

"What? Why?"

"I lost. If it weren't for you and Joshua, I'd be dead now. I lost to a Cyclops. A huge, slow, hulking axe-wielder."

"It had a killer axe, Mari. Those things are perfect for finding critical openings – personally, I think they're a little magical. And why would I fire you for that?"

"You hired me on my claim that I never lost. Now it's not true."

"Yeah, sucks to be fallible, doesn't it?" he asked, tilting his head and brow in a way that suggested he thought she had received a minor head injury, too. "This isn't going to be easy, because everyone else learns this lesson early on, and you've never had to. To be honest, it's more of a weakness than a strength, to have never lost. You never found out that after you lose – at least, when you have friends you can count on to step in and save your life by taking the demon-behemoth's arms off – the world doesn't end. You get better, you get stronger, you get back on your feet, and you seal away the essence of Fomortiis the Demon King."

Marisa frowned. At least, her eyebrows twitched in the direction of a frown before going neutral again. "What, every time?"

_I'll be your jester, be your fool_

_Compromising fool_

_I'll be your jester, be your fool_

"No, having a Demon King around is more the sort of thing you have to luck into." He stood up. "I'm going to go pester Prince Innes for another hazard bonus. You get better fast; we'll need you soon."

"You."

Gerik stopped as he turned. "What?"

"Before, you said 'the next time _you_ need me'." Marisa tilted her head; she was starting to pick up on a couple of normal mannerisms. "And you called me Mari."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. Ordinarily that only happens in my head, you understand."

"Do you have to go?" she asked as he tried to turn again.

"…Well… hazard bonuses, like I said…"

Marisa closed her eyes and grabbed him by the wrist, the same way she had during their first impromptu grappling match. "Only… maybe you could try again. This time when I'm not wearing a mask."

He glanced back at the cloudburst, then at her. Easiest choice of his entire life. "…Yeah. Okay."

_Concede and believe me_

_I won't give up_

_I won't give out on you_


End file.
